


First Fight

by anomalously



Series: Mischief [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (also questionable parenting choice), Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Marijuana, Minor Violence, Slurs, Teenage Yevgeny, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5277920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalously/pseuds/anomalously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>The Prompt:</b> Svetlana confesses to Yevgeny that she used to be a sex worker. She's very scared that her son won't love her anymore even tho she quit years ago and now has been working in the Alibi.</p><p>
  <i>He’d never been in a fight before. Not a serious one. He’d managed to go sixteen years in South Side without being in anything more than a dumb shoving match, maybe a slap, or an elbow to the side. Never a real fight though. Unprecedented for a Milkovich, but his family didn't see it as anything other than something to be proud about. Yev didn't fight. Ever.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bloody

**Author's Note:**

> **Please Note:** _Dialogue in italics means that whatever is being said is in Russian._

His hands were shaking —his whole body was shaking, sitting in the front office, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. Yev was hot all over; face, down his neck, his chest, back… everywhere. Hot, white-hot angry, and shaking. He moved his sight from the floor to his swollen, bloody knuckles, moving his fingers as best as he could, but it hurt like a bitch.

Throbbing lip and jaw, a little swollen under his eye; he sniffed, looking back down at the floor, ignoring whoever walked past him. He heard the school phone ringing in the background, shuffling of papers, soft chattering.

He’d never been in a fight before. Not a serious one. He’d managed to go sixteen years in South Side without being in anything more than a dumb shoving match, maybe a slap, or an elbow to the side. Never a _real_ fight though. Unprecedented for a Milkovich, but his family didn't see it as anything other than something to be proud about. Yev didn't fight. Ever.

Now his tattooed knuckles were bloody from one of them splitting; he was sure that he was already getting a black eye, and from the taste of blood in his mouth, the inside of his lip was split as well. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep it off.

The front office door swung open and Yev didn’t have to look up to know it was his mother who came storming in. He couldn't even look at her, too fucking embarrassed about the whole thing. He had lost his shit. This level of violence was uncharted territories for him; feeling that anger, throwing his whole body into a hit. It was like he lost himself for a moment, and it didn't feel good at all. 

“W _hat happened?_ ” Svetlana carefully took Yev by the sides of his face, directing him to sit up and look at her so she could see the damage. “ _Oh my god, Zhenya, your face… _who did this to you?_ What the fuck happened?_”

He didn’t answer, couldn't even look at his mother. Svetlana was a bad bitch. She was strong and collected, but right now, she looked horrified, eyes glassy as she spoke. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her cry —had he ever? He didn’t like it. And it was his fault she was looking at him like this; it made him feel even shittier.

“Ma,” Yev sighed, leaning away from her touch. His lip and jaw were tender and she kept trying to hold him.

And then, if things couldn't get any worse, two more people popped into the office. Yev leaned back in his chair, watching his dads and mom gather in front of him. Ian winced when he saw him; Mickey was still in his blue grease-stained coveralls, straight from work, nostrils flared, telling Yev all he needed to know.

“Jesus,” Ian’s face scrunched up as he reached out and touched Yev’s jaw carefully. “You okay?”

“The fuck you fighting for?” Mickey asked him, right to the point, not bothering to keep his voice down. “I got three cars waiting on me, your Dad’s got the diner, your mom’s got work… and we gotta drop everything because you’re fucking _fighting_? Better hope to god it was worth it.”

Yev, still leaning against he back of his chair, just looked at his Pop, not saying anything. If he did say anything right now, he’d get in more trouble. He knew this was Pop’s way of saying he was worried and scared and didn’t like seeing Yev beaten up like that. But right now, he just didn’t want to hear it.

“Lower your voice,” Svetlana warned Mickey.

“Mick—” Ian started.

But Mickey cut them off, “No, I wanna know what the fuck is going on with our kid! Where’s the fucker that did this?”

Yev huffed a humorless laugh; maybe he looked worse than he thought. Anthony was a little bigger than him, after all. He nodded towards the principal office door, “In there with his dad.”

“What happened?” Ian asked. Yev shook his head, glancing over at his mom; he couldn't talk about it, didn’t want to say it out loud, not here.

Principal Haas’ door opened, and Yev didn’t want to look at Anthony Moore and his dad, but he did. There was some kind of fucked up stare-down between Anthony’s dad and Yev’s parents. Anthony curled his lip back at Yev, wiping at his nose. The tension in the office was so fucking thick, it was almost suffocating.

Yev was kind of weirdly proud of himself though, seeing Anthony. Dried blood under his nose, bruises on his jaw and the inner corners of both eyes. Maybe it was a fairer fight than Yev had originally thought. Because for a minute there, his parents had him thinking he got his ass handed to him.

He was not expecting his Dad to be the one to speak up first. But there Ian was, stepping forward, placing his body between the two Moore’s and his family as he spoke to Mr. Moore, “He better not ever touch my kid again.”

Mr. Moore looked a little on the drunk side. Red faced, hard but watery eyes, “You threatening my son? Your kid is the one who threw the first punch!”

That earned Yev a sharp look from his mother and _very_ high eyebrows from his Pop.

Ian shook his head, taking a step back when Mickey reached out and gently grabbed his elbow, “If he threw the first punch, your son did something to cause that. _My_ kid doesn’t get in fights.”

“ _Son of a bitch_ ,” Svetlana said quietly. 

Principal Haas cleared his throat, cutting the short conversation off, “If we can move into my office, please?”

Anthony and his dad left with matching snarls, so Yev and his parents made their way into Principal Haas’ office. It was cramped and messy; his parents sat down in the chairs in front of the desk, while Yev was banished to the shitty little plastic chair by the office door, behind everyone. Which, honestly, was what he preferred.

“I’ve spoken to both of the boys,” Principal Haas began with an exhausted sigh, like he'd had this conversation one too many times this week. “No surprise, I’m sure, but I can’t get it out of them what was said that lead to the fight. Regardless of what was said, we can’t have fighting on school grounds.”

Yev watched as his mother turned around to look at him, eyes like fucking lasers in their focus, “Really?”

He kept quiet, still refusing to tell anyone what was said. South Side rules, right? Even when the shittiest things were said or did, you snitch on someone, you might as well shoot your reputation in the head. It was ridiculous, Yev knew this. But that’s what your programming was when you were raised here.

“Mr. Haas, that kid had to have provoked Yev pretty bad,” Mickey said. “He doesn’t fight —he’s a fucking good kid. I mean, I know he ain’t perfect, but _fighting_ is not him.”

The principal nodded. “He’s very respectful to the faculty, his behavior isn’t stellar, but it’s good, he _is_ a good kid… but I’m sorry, Mr. Milkovich, I can’t ignore the fact that is was Yev who started the fight. He’s looking at a five day suspension.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey sighed.

“Five days?” Ian repeated, sitting up a little straighter. 

“How is that going to effect his schoolwork?” Svetlana asked. “He is good student.”

Principal Haas looked through some papers on his desk while he answered, “His teachers have agreed to send his work to the office to be collected each day —would your daughter be able to do this?”

Mickey nodded, “She can do that.”

“How is Olivia going to get to and from school?” Ian quietly asked Mickey.

Yev sighed when his Pop looked back at him with hard eyes, “Guess we’re gonna have to figure that shit out, aren’t we —now that everyone’s gotta move their schedule around for you, huh?”

“Mick,” Ian put a hand on Mickey’s arm, “Not now, okay? He’s busted up enough as it is.”

“It is five days,” Svetlana cut in, looking over at Yev’s dads. “This we can handle —I will drive Olivia, if you need me to.”

“Thank you,” Ian and Mickey murmured.

Yev still didn’t say anything through the rest of the meeting, just sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, looking down at the floor. He felt numb and shitty and just wanted to sleep. His jaw was still throbbing —it was dull now, but every time his heart beat, he felt it there.

He wasn’t allowed anywhere near school grounds for the entire five days that he was suspended —if he went on school grounds, they’d have to call the cops. So Yev couldn’t even drive Olivia to school, or Amy and Gemma. The longer they talked about all this shit, the shitter Yev felt about everything. If only he could go back in time and walk away from Anthony Moore running his mouth.

Then they left the school, taking Olivia home early. _Everyone_ was headed over to his dad’s house instead of going back to work. Mickey had phoned in to the garage on the way out of the school, displeased, telling his boss that he needed the rest of the day off. It was about to rain down on Yev, he could feel it.

They piled into the living room, Yev’s parents sitting on the couch, Olivia on the arm of the couch, Yev across from them on the plush armchair, like a weird intervention. _Son, you’ve fucked up real bad once and now we have to talk about it, maybe send you away to live with relatives in Russia for the summer because obviously you’re out of control_. 

Obviously this was not going to pan out that way, and Yev’s head went into dramatics, but it sure as fuck felt that way. He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to lock himself away in his room, listen to his music and sleep. He just wanted to fucking sleep.

It happened during lunch. Because shit was predictable and cliche like that.

Yev had been sitting with a couple friends —Jesse and Byron— just talking shit, laughing, probably being really obnoxious, but the cafeteria was loud anyways so no one really gave a fuck. And then Anthony fucking Moore came over to their table with his usual asshole smirk, and Yev knew that he was going to say something dick-ish.

Anthony Moore was just a fucking _asshole_. And he wasn’t even the kind of asshole that was funny or tolerable. He was just… awful. To everyone.  He said shit to get under your skin because he liked to fight. A lot. The kid loved to fight more than anything.  You could possibly call him a bully, but it seemed kind of juvenile to call him that. He was an asshole, plain and simple. 

Yev _kind of_ felt bad for him, because obviously there was shit going on in his life. But Anthony was just so horrible with  _no_ redeeming qualities, that it was hard to feel  _anything_ for him.

So anyways, Anthony comes over to Yev’s table and Jesse shoots Yev one of those looks like _here we fucking go again_. But when Anthony folds his arms under his chest and nods at Yev, something really weird shifts in the air, and Yev isn’t sure why, but his stomach drops. 

He’s not _scared_ of Anthony, he just doesn’t want to deal with him. He doesn't want to listen to whatever bullshit is supposed to tick him off. Anthony liked to talk shit about Yev’s dads, and there’d been some shoving in the past, profanities thrown around the hallways, but nothing more. Yev always walked away because he wasn’t a fighter like that. It wasn’t worth it.

“Your mom’s worked at the Alibi for a while, right?” Anthony asked.

Yev sighed, not liking where this was going. His classmates thought his mom was a MILF, and as beautiful as Yev knew his mother was… he _really_ didn’t want to hear about that shit, “Why?”

Anthony shrugged, “I just wanted to know if it was true, what my dad said.”

“Yeah, what’d your dad say?”

“He said that before she was bar-tending, your faggy ol’ man was pimping her out above the bar for fifty bucks a pop,” he shrugged, grin cracking wider. “So I just wanted to know if she was still open for business —because if she is, m’gonna have to get on that.”

Both Jesse and Byron looked over at Yev with wide eyes, and Yev couldn’t even form a _thought_ at that point. He caught his tongue in the corner of his mouth, pushing his chair out, “The fuck you just say?”

“I said I wanted to know if your mother was still a whore,” Anthony puffed his chest out a little. “From what my dad says, she takes dick _real_ fucking good —and shit, for fifty bucks? I think I can swing that.”

Here’s the thing. Yevgeny Milkovich can protest the claim that he is a “Mama’s Boy” until he is blue in the face. But Yevgeny Milkovich is without a doubt, a _complete_ Mama’s Boy. He loves his mom; they might disagree on some things, but his mom is like his fucking… home. His everything. 

So while Yev has absolutely _no_ idea what the fuck Anthony is talking about, he really doesn’t care —because this motherfucker just called his mom a whore, and his Pop a fag. And Yev whole-heartedly took that fucking bait, without question. One minute he’s feeling his whole body rev up, a fire catch in his belly... and the next, he’s on his feet, fist slamming into the side of Anthony Moore’s smug fucking face.

And the cafeteria exploded around them. It was like Yev left his body while he was hitting Anthony, rolling around on the hard cafeteria floor, yelling and kicking and lashing out. He tasted blood, but still kept going, because _fuck this guy_. 

Yev wasn’t exactly a big, muscular guy. He was lean, on the verge of lanky… but he put up one  _hell_  of a fucking fight. It didn't matter that he’d never done this before; maybe it was instinct, like in his Milkovich blood, just knowing how to fight, knowing what to do. Maybe that instinct was just waiting for the right moment to rear it’s ugly head and attack. 

“Well?” Svetlana prompted, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. Her face was locked in that sharp, expectant look.

But Yev shook his head for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He didn’t want his mom knowing about what people were saying about her. It wasn’t right. And he knew, in the back of his mind, that maybe this was his way of protecting himself. Because if the puzzle pieces were falling together —the rumors about Mickey being a pimp a long time ago— then Yev didn’t know how he’d handle it.

“Yev,” Ian sighed, “What happened?”

His eyes stung as he rubbed at his bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes flicked to Olivia, who had a mixture of concern and interest on her face. Then he looked at Mickey and he clenched his jaw tight.

“You ain’t getting off that fucking chair till you say something,” Mickey finally spoke.

Yev opened his mouth, throat dry and it was hard to breathe all of a sudden. He looked at Olivia again and shook his head, eyes flicking back to Mickey, “You probably don’t want Liv to hear this.”

“Huh?” Olivia piped up, sitting up straight.

Ian frowned, “Did that kid say something about her?”

Yev shook his head, not looking away from Mickey, “No, he didn’t say anything about Liv. But _you_ , Pop, probably don’t want her to hear about it.”

“About what?” Mickey asked.

His eyes broke away from Mickey to look at Svetlana, shoulders dropping a little, “About the Alibi.”

The room was quiet for a minute, as Yev’s parents put their own pieces together to figure out what his words meant. Then something clicked with all three of them at about the same time. Olivia, confused as ever, looked at Mickey for answers.

“Olivia, go to your room,” Mickey kept his voice quiet.

Yev looked at his mother —she’d gone pale, wide watery eyes, worse than before in the office. She seemed so small in a matter of seconds, so helpless. And Yev’s stomach dropped even further because then he knew for sure… it was true. 

His Pop _had_ been a pimp, and his Pop _had_ pimped out the mother of his child. Fifty bucks a pop. And Yev felt like he was going to throw up.


	2. Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can handle it… just tell me, please,” Yev said. “You guys can’t hide shit forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, _dialogue in italics means that whatever is said is meant to be in Russian._ :)
> 
> I tried to edit it as best I could, please excuse any misspellings or obvious wrong words lol

Olivia punched out a frustrated noise, “Seriously?”

“Olivia,” Ian said. “Please.”

With a dramatic, drawn out sigh, she did as she was told. And Yev was left with his parents, still sitting on the couch, across from him. There was only a coffee table separating them. His mother wouldn’t look at him, head tilted down, hands coming up to her face to wipe away tears —Yev didn’t want her to cry, wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t, to ask her to stop. Mickey was visibly clenching and unclenching his jaw, no doubt trying to hold in a firestorm of rage, and Ian just looked completely lost.

When Yev heard Olivia’s bedroom door shut upstairs, he sighed and ran a hand over his hair, “So, it’s true?”

“Yev, you don’t understand,” Ian started.

“What part am I getting wrong here? Because if I got suspended from school for five days from a misunderstanding, I’d like to fucking know,” he tore his eyes away from Ian, to look at Mickey. “Pop, did you or did you not pimp my fucking mom out above the Alibi?”

“Zhenya, it’s not that simple,” His Ma whispered.

Mickey got up from the couch, “Ain’t sitting here and being talked down to by my fucking son.”

“Mickey, stop,” Ian grabbed Mickey’s arm, stopping him from going any further. “Yev doesn’t know… he doesn't _know_.”

“I didn’t want him to know, Ian!” Mickey tugged his arm from Ian’s grasp, voice raising loud —Yev hated that voice. “Didn’t want him to know that shit —not like this!”

Yev watched with wide eyes as Mickey walked out of the living room, making his way to the kitchen. Ian followed him, calling his name as he did. And then he was left alone with his mother, still looking so small and a little scared, and so pale.

He scrambled to his feet, walking around the coffee table and sat next to her, “ _Mama, it’s okay, don’t cry… please don’t cry_.”

Svetlana gave him a small smile, because she loved when he spoke Russian. She reached out, placing her hand on his cheek and sighed, “Don’t be angry with your Papa. You don’t understand. It was different then. _There’s so much you don’t know_.” 

Her eyes flicked away from him, and he followed where she was looking. Ian and Mickey were back in the living room. Mickey scratching the corner of his eyebrow, Ian quiet, hand resting on the back of Mickey’s shoulder.

“What don’t I understand? Just tell me… please,” Yev said, his voice not as strong as he wanted it to be. So far all he knew was that his dad pimped out his mom, and that was really fucking him up right now. Was he angry? Maybe, yeah it felt right. 

Mickey came around, sat on the edge of the coffee table, his knees bumping into Yev’s. Ian followed, sitting next to him; they were all huddled together at that point, looking more like they were hatching a plan for a secret mission than having a family meeting.

“It’s not pretty,” Mickey told Yev.

“I can handle it… just tell me, please,” Yev said. “You guys can’t hide shit forever.”

Svetlana folded her hands in her lap, exchanging a long look with Mickey. And Yev was still confused, because his parents were on good terms, but they never looked at each other like that before. He didn’t even know how to explain it —a weird, silent conversation between the two of them on how to broach this subject. Mickey nodded.

“When I was your age, Yevgeny… I was sold,” Svetlana began, very soft, very unsure, not at all sounding like herself. “Brought over from Russia to work. I did not have choice. This is how I met your Papa, later on.”

Yev froze, mouth dropping open a little, words on the tip of his tongue, but he had no idea what those words could possibly be.

“You remember I told you about Terry,” Mickey said. “My ol’ man.”

Yev nodded. He heard enough, but at the same time… not enough. He just knew that the bastard was a white-supremacist asshole who got himself killed in jail. Used to beat on Pop a lot, got his kids involved in crime. Basically, a real piece of shit.

“Terry caught me and your Dad,” Mickey said, staring down at his knees; Ian rubbed a hand up and down his back. “He caught us and beat the shit out of us —pistol-whipped me real good. Then he uh… he made a call. To _fix_ me.”

When Mickey finally looked up, Yev felt his chest tighten. He’d never seen his Pop cry, he’d never seen him with red eyes and flushed skin and just looking so… vulnerable. Mickey Milkovich was a badass, he was hard and had a threat tattooed across his knuckles. Yev knew his Pop wasn’t devoid of fucking emotions or anything like that, but he’d never seen him like _this_ , and it scared him.

Ian leaned over and pressed his lips to the side of Mickey’s head, “S’okay.”

More pieces fell together, Yev looked back at his mom, “He called for you.”

She nodded, wiping at her eyes, “Yes.”

And then more pieces. His eyes stung, hand running over the top of his face, he breathed deep, “And that’s how I was…”

“Yes,” Svetlana whispered with this weak voice that chilled Yev to the bone.

He felt like he was going to be sick. He was the product of that. Of a nightmare. He felt himself going numb, not sure what to do, what to say. His chest hurt and his eyes stung, and he wondered how his Pop could even _look_ at him. How could his Ma look at him? How could they love him, after going through that?

“Fuck,” Yev pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

Yev knew that in the beginning, right after he was born, for a little while, Mickey had a hard time with him. He knew that Ian picked up a lot of the slack in the dad department. He just always assumed it was because Mickey hadn’t been ready to be a father. But there was the truth, he couldn't be there for Yev because he hadn’t wanted Yev, hadn’t wanted any of that.

A couple years ago he overheard Uncle Iggy make an offhanded comment about how his Pop used to have sex with girls, before he was _out_. So he assumed… he never thought… 

Yev pressed his hands harder against his eyes, trying to push the tears back. How could they stand to even be around him —wasn’t he this constant reminder of that day?

Ian reached over and ran his fingers over the top of his head; he heard Svetlana choke back a soft sob beside him, “ _Don’t cry, baby_ ,” she whispered, “ _Don’t cry. It’s okay._ ”

“Ay, look at me,” Mickey reached out, putting a hand on Yev’s shoulder, squeezing him a little. Yev brought his hands down from his eyes and could barely find it in him to look at his Pop, feeling ashamed and guilty for things that weren’t in his control.

“That shit ain’t on you, you understand? It was a long time ago,” Mickey wiped at Yev’s face, careful not to touch any bruises. “Kid, I love you —we _all_ love you. I didn’t wanna tell you because I knew how it’d make you feel. Fuck, I didn’t want… I’m sorry, man.”

“What happened isn’t part of you, Yev,” Ian said, fingers still brushing through his hair. “What happened was bad, but it’s not you, okay?”

“ _I’m so sorry you had to find out this way_ ,” Svetlana sniffed, kissing the back of his hand, holding it tightly.

He felt so small, like he was five years old, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Yev tried to clear his throat, rubbing at his bottom lip with his free hand, not daring to let go of his mother’s with the other one. Pop looked at him with red eyes, Ian sitting quietly, trying to comfort both Mickey and Yev as best he could. Why couldn't anything be simple for his parents? Why did their lives have to be so fucked up? It wasn’t fair.

“How…” Yev sniffed, “How does the Alibi come in to all this?”

“Just sorta worked out that way,” Mickey gave a helpless shrug; Ian gave Yev's scalp one last scrub before he took his hand away and sat back with Mickey on the coffee table.

“We had a full house,” Svetlana explained. “Your Papa did what he could, I did what I could, but it was not enough. We had baby on the way —you— and so many mouths to feed already. Everybody pulls their weight.”

Yev sighed, not able to fully put himself in that position to understand. They weren’t rich now, obviously, but they were okay. He knew that back in the day, his Pop had to resort to scams and dealing to make money, but until right this very moment, they were kind of funny little stories. It was real now. It was right in his fucking face. Living like that wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t funny at all.

“Then I brought home money one day and your Papa was not happy,” Svetlana continued, a soft smile on her lips as she glanced over at Mickey. “Where I was working, I was not making fair money. And this one drags me to spa and we go in, and he tells the frontman my wife’s a hooker, not a slave.”

Mickey snorted, and Yev felt the corner of his mouth lift at that, glancing over at him.

“I thought maybe he is in over his head, but I will wait and see how this works out. I am wife now and I adapt, I stand by with husband,” she continued. She looks fondly at Mickey, smiling through watery eyes, “The frontman doesn’t budge —he is not in charge anyways… so your Papa takes _all_ the girls out of the spa. Every single one. Makes a big scene, you know how he is, takes us away until we get paid fair.”

Yev looked over at Pop with wide eyes; Mickey shrugged, “We needed that fucking money. Besides, not like any of ‘em coulda gone out and got a real job —no ID, nothing.”

“ _This is how we had to survive, Zhenya_ ,” Svetlana turned more to face him. “ _It’s not pretty and we thought we wouldn’t have to tell you about all the bad things, not like this. But I wouldn’t change any of it, because you are here now, and I don’t ever want you to feel anything bad about the past. We didn’t want you to know, but it’s probably better now that you do_.”

“English, please,” Mickey huffed.

Svetlana narrowed her eyes at Mickey, “Fine. Zhenya, your Papa fucked up.”

“This is my favorite part,” Ian grinned, brushing his fingers through Mickey’s hair now, earning an elbow to his stomach.

“He tried to negotiate with the woman in charge, Sasha… but Sasha already got _new_ workers. So he was left with a house full of angry Russian women, took their jobs away, nowhere to go,” Svetlana rolled her eyes. “And then we ended up above the Alibi. Of course, we still got paid the same as with Sahsa—”

“And I don’t know why you’re still fucking bitching about that,” Mickey shook his head. “You were making more money than the rest of the fucking girls —whatever I got, you got!”

“This is not the point, and you know it!” Svetlana shot back at him, but she laughed.

Mickey gave a lopsided smile, nodding, “God that place was a shithole.”

“Is nice now,” Svetlana shrugged. “Renters are nice.”

Yev felt a hand on his shoulder —it was Ian, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, shoulders lifting in a little shrug. He had a million things running through his head and it was hard to grab onto just one. He didn’t know how to feel, what to say, how to react. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this information. “Kinda a lot to take in, I guess.”

“ _I was scared to tell you —I was scared that you’d hate me_ ,” Svetlana said.

Yev shook his head, “ _I could never hate you._ ”

“My sweet boy,” Svetlana rubbed at her red nose, eyes red from crying. “So don’t be angry with your Papa for what he had to do, okay? I was better off with him than I was with Sasha.”

Yev nodded, looking over at his Pop, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Mickey frowned. “You love your mom, s’okay if you’re pissed, man.”

“I’m not _mad_ … I just didn’t know, like you said,” Yev sighed. “Didn’t know that you guys had to do that shit to live.”

Mickey sighed, grabbing Yev by the back of his head to pull him forward so he could press his lips to the top of his head, “You’re a good kid,” he said into his hair. His fingers scrubbed into the back of his scalp and Yev sighed again —he’d been sighing so much that his lungs felt weak. Then Mickey stood from the coffee table, moving around Ian to go to the kitchen. He probably needed some air.

“You should go take a shower,” Ian said gently. “Wash up, take a nap… you look tired.”

Yev nodded, “I am.”

“Go sleep, Zhenya,” Svetlana said, pushing his hair out of his face. “I will cut your hair this weekend, okay?”

“Okay,” he murmured.

 

* * *

 

It was late. Yev had stayed in his room for the rest of the night, hadn't even been in the mood for dinner. He propped himself up in bed, low music coming from his phone. He balanced one of his textbooks on his lap while he gotout an old medicine bottle, grinder, and rolling papers from his nightstand, proceeding to try and roll a joint. He wasn’t the best at it, but he really didn’t want to get up and look for his bowl, so… whatever.

His lip was still hurting, and his jaw was tender, from the fight. He hadn’t really spoken since the big talk with his parents. Ma went home hours ago, he thought maybe he should go with her, but after he’d taken a shower, the thought of getting into his car and driving seemed like the most exhausting thing ever. He just very _quiet_.

There’s a soft knock on his door, that makes Yev pause for a second, half-rolled joint in hand, because he didn’t think anyone was still awake. “Yeah?” he calls out.

Mickey comes through the door, closing it behind him, “Just checking in,” he says, eyeing what Yev is holding. 

“M’okay,” Yev mumbles, his fingers trying to get back to work. He can’t tell if it’s because his knuckles are stiff or just his general shittiness of rolling, but it’s not working out.

“Here,” Mickey sighs, sitting on the edge of Yev’s bed. He reaches over and shows him (for probably the third time) how to tuck and roll the paper. “Probably makes me a shit dad, huh?” he laughs, licking the edge of the joint to seal it.

Yev smirks, “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t think so,” Mickey grins, handing the joint back to Yev. “Having an old pro roll your joints for you.”

“Don’t worry,” Yev pauses to light the joint, pulling in the thick smoke. “Ain’t gonna tell Ma,” he says on his exhale, offering the joint to his Pop.

“That’s the last thing I need,” Mickey snorts before he takes a hit. “Mother Russia after me.”

“She’s a’ight,” Yev shrugs, taking the joint back. “Does my laundry.”

Mickey laughs, “Coulda had a worse mom.”

“Coulda had a worse Pop,” Yev pointed out quietly.

“You did,” Mickey says. “Before, you know. Didn’t have anything to do with you, just what happened… I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Thank god for your Dad, tell you that much. He was all in from the first time he saw you.”

“Gallagher’s,” Yev grinned, pulling on the joint.

Mickey nodded, “Thank god for Gallagher’s… don’t tell him I said that.”

Yev chuckled, handing Mickey the joint back. He made an X on his chest with his finger, “I’ll take it to my grave.”

“Want you to stop with the fucking cigarettes though,” Mickey said, voice strained form holding his breath in.

Yev pressed his lips together in thought, “I don’t do it a lot.”

Mickey exhaled, handing it back, “Shit’s poison. Don’t be like me and your Dad. Weed’s weed, you know. But cigarettes… fucking kills you.”

He nodded, knowing his Pop was right. He really didn't do it too much and at this point, it was kind of just kind of pointless anyways, "Okay."

After a minute or two, Mickey sighed, "You scared the fuck outta me today. Getting that call, seeing you all busted up. No more of that shit, a'ight? Can't be going gray already."

Yev grinned, "A'ight."

“Mick?” Ian’s voice called from down the hall.

Yev and Mickey looked at each other with panicked eyes, scrambling to stash the joint and weed as fast as they could. Yev, his buzz taking over, snorted a laugh, because he was trying to hide evidence with his own father and for some reason it was just _hilarious_. 

Mickey shoved the paraphernalia into the nightstand drawer while Yev took one last pull at the joint, stubbed it out on the corner of his text book, and threw it into the drawer as well. Mickey was waving the smoke around, trying to dissipate it as Yev slammed the drawer shut, both of them stifling their laughing as well as they could —which wasn’t exactly working.

“Babe, you in here?” Ian said as he knocked once on Yev’s door before opening it.

Mickey coughed, smoothing down his shirt for no reason. Yev held his breath, trying not to laugh at the face Ian made as soon as he stepped into his room and sniffed.

“Are you smoking with _our child_ again?” Ian accused with a pointed finger, brows drawn together. 

Ian smoked sometimes too, it wasn’t like weed was a “bad” thing in the house. And he didn’t get all bent out of shape if Yev smoked every once in a while… but he didn’t like it when Mickey smoked with him. It was a non-rule rule thing he had. _No smoking with the children_.

“What? No,” Mickey shook his head. “The fuck’re you talking about?”

“I can smell it all the way down in our room!” Ian folded his arms under his chest.

“Get your fucking nose checked, man,” Mickey scoffed. He smacked his lips a couple times, giving away the fact that he already had cottonmouth.

Ian smiled, shaking his head, “Need a drink?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey grinned.

“You’re grounded,” Ian told Mickey before he walked out of the room.

Mickey laughed, following Ian out, “You can’t ground me, bitch!”

“You sure you wanna test that out?” Yev heard Ian from down the hall. “Time to get reacquainted with your hand, Milkovich!”

“Ian!”

Yev couldn’t hold it in anymore, he cackled loudly, feeling an ache in his jaw and lip, but he ignored it. After the day he had, it felt good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mickey Milkovich, you cannot smoke with the children, jeeesus. (s'pose it could be worse tho).
> 
> Thank you for reading! :)


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